In August the sounds of locusts are primroses or psychopomp, which do you dare~ In August I dream of the bay, cotton candy mute of clouds into shelf-wells of water walls gather and collecting the dream of themselves above or ahead, the just out of reach sky. If that is thunder, it cracks open the…
Tag: diPrima
New Moon: She takes up pen, again.
It’s been a million days of this I think, and as I write such words I see the gray slant of my ceiling in the morning, the days leading up to, but especially following, Aunt Mary’s death. Grief, which sits like a bone in the air. Its smooth, cold, calcium-yearning. Always there, blocking the place…
Wild Women Wisdom 